


The Curse Of The Sorceress

by black_rose4



Series: Dungeons and Dragons [1]
Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Fluff, Gen, will update as I go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-04
Updated: 2020-02-11
Packaged: 2020-07-31 05:57:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 37
Words: 19,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20110249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/black_rose4/pseuds/black_rose4
Summary: (Mostly) Short little tidbits based on events from my group's dnd campaign, Curse Of The Sorceress, as well as some things that aren't from the story but fit in and around the plotReif is my character, which is why she's usually the focus, but I've borrowed other people's characters too because hey group interaction is fun





	1. Don't Judge A Book...

She knows exactly what she’s looking for. Up the stairs, first right, third left, then straight down the main ailse until she reaches the end of the row. It’s buried in the back with a bunch of others like it, plain and unmarked and unrecognisable. She grabs the third from the end and makes a beeline for her usual reading spot which, as usual, is thankfully unoccupied.

She’s feeling good about this today. She’s not sure if it’s the fact that she had a dream about it again, or that she’s just in a really good mood. But today’s the day, she knows it. Today she’s finally going to figure this book out.

_Open me. _

The words echo in her mind, a chorus of voices whispering all around her. She’d heard them in her dream, as she’d opened her eyes and gotten dressed this morning. Now, they’re practically screaming.

Reif opens the book. Blank.

“What?” She turns a few pages. Then a few more. Still blank. She flicks through the pages frantically. This isn’t possible. Words don’t just vanish from the pages of books. Blank. Blank. She flips to the end. Blank. She holds the book up to the light, inspects the pages. No signs of tampering. She checks the spine for that telltale dint. It’s definitely the same book, only now it’s missing all its contents. “I don’t get it. How are you blank?”

_Open me. _

“I have opened you! You’ve got nothing in you!”

_Yet. _

Reif throws the book to the floor. “What?”

Ink swirls on the pages, forming words that linger long enough to be read before they disappate. _Yet. I need your help filling these pages, Reif. _

She pulls the book back towards her and clutches it to her chest, looks around nervously. No one’s there. “How do you know my name?”

_I know much about you. I see your potential. I want to help you._ Reif looks around again. Still empty. Still quiet. _We can help each other, you and I. You fill my pages with wondrous adventures, the stuff of legends. I give you the ability to have them. Abilities I know you dream of. And I know that you are capable of them. You just need some guidance. _

Reif lets the book flop onto her lap, still open, ink disappating back into the page.

She’s never really considered herself the adventurous type. That’s always been better left for the hunters, the fighters. Not bookworms like herself who spend their time cooped up inside. “I’ve never even left town.” Sadness tinges her words. Maybe it is time she went outside. Maybe it’s time she saw the world.

Maybe, she thinks, it’s time she woke up and realised that she’s been talking to a book for the last five minutes.

“This is crazy. I’m crazy. I’m going to put you back now and pretend that this never happened.”

_No._ The chorus shrieks and Reif winces as their shrill voices pierce her mind. She hesitates and the chorus calms. _Wait. Let me show you what we can do. _

Reif says nothing. She’s entertained this dilusion long enough. She shakes her head and-

Fire engulphs her hand. She watches, mesirised, as it glides over her skin, leaving no trace of damage to her. But she feels the heat from it, the intensity. The power. She can’t look away.

As quick as it came, it’s gone again. The chorus returns. _I would show you more, but I doubt your Superiors would appreciate my setting fire to their archives. We can’t lose such precious knowledge as what’s in here, now can we? _

Reif stares at her hand, turns it over and over and over. For just a second she’d felt the power she’s been trying so desperately to attain. And it had felt good.

“You said you can help me?”

_I can show you all the things you’ve dreamt of and so much more. _

She hesitates. It all seems too good to be true. The answers she’s been looking for just falling into her lap like this? No. And yet maybe it isn’t too good to be true. Maybe, finally, all of her hard work has paid off. Maybe for once she gets to have something good happen to her.

Reif closes the book and tucks it under her arm.


	2. More

_This is my gift to you. Use it well. _

She stares at the flame in her hand, watches it lick at her fingers and dance in her palm. It twists and turns, then cowers before creeping back up again. Bold and daring, just like she wants to be. Her eyes glow.

_I can give you more. Much more. But you must work hard to deserve it. _

She barely hears the words in her ear, too mesmerised by the flames. The power in the palm of her hand. This is only the beginning. She can taste it now. She just needs to get out of here. See the world. Earn her name.

Reif closes her palm and glances around. All is quiet. As always.

It doesn’t take long for her to pack a bag. She leaves it by her bedside for the morning, and hides it under her many layers of clothing on her way out. It would be foolish to travel alone through the forest at night. But once the sun rises, so will she.

She doesn’t sleep that night, she simply watches as the fire burns her fingertips, leaving them perpetually blackened and Hers.

_I can give you more._


	3. Strange Company

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Circumstances bring together the oddest of company

They’ve never been left in each other’s sole company before.

She doesn’t know why this would be news to her, because it’s rather obvious when she thinks about it. They’re a travelling party, not a travelling duo. In truth, she just hasn’t thought about it, too busy worrying about bandits and gelatinous cubes and enchanted swords to worry about her interpersonal relations.

Now, however, she’s definitely thinking about it. Perhaps it’s the bard’s constant chattering that’s usually dulled by the ability to talk to her fellow elf, now ringing incessantly in her ears. Or perhaps it’s his ‘walking music’, as he likes to call it; background music that’s currently very much in the forefront of her mind and is quite frankly getting on her nerves. Or maybe it’s just his slow pace, caused by his short stature and his even shorter legs, and emphasised now she has him and him alone as her travelling companion.

Regardless of why, Reif can’t help but feel uncomfortable as she walks aimlessly around Buckenstadt with Flambard. Part of it’s the staring. People watching this tiny little bard as he sings his way around town, some stopping him to throw a few coins his way, others clapping and cheering as he finishes a song and takes a bow. To her surprise, no one boos, though a few grumble and wave them along their hasty way.

“Do you have to do that everywhere we go?”

His hands keep playing as he replies, “Yes, otherwise how am I meant to stay on the top of my game?”

Reif sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose. “I’m sure you can manage to put it down for a few minutes.”

Normally her tone would make most people stop. Not Flambard though. Instead he grins up at her and shrugs. “I’m sorry, no.” And then he continues singing.

In that moment, Reif almost regrets going with Flambard instead of the paladin. Almost. She’s still not sure she’d call spending her free time healing the sick ‘fun’, but hey, to each his own.

* * *

“So I assume you studied then?”

The halfling stops his singing, but his hands keep playing a merry melody. “I’m sorry?”

“To be a bard,” Reif clarifies. “Isn’t there a college you have to go to in order to become a qualified bard. Otherwise aren’t you just some nobody with a lute?”

He shoots her a heated look, but bites back his immediate retort. “I went to bard college. Not that they know much there. The fools in charge couldn’t recognise true talent when it was staring them in the face. So instead I walked out the door and into the brave wild world.”

Reif nods and mutters a vague noise of agreement. “So you quit then?”

“Yes.”

“So you failed bard college.”

Once again, Flambard has to resist the urge to speak his mind. He takes a calming breath. “If you call leaving a college that wasn’t suited to my talents failing bard college, then yes, I suppose I did. But I succeeded out in the real world, and truthfully, that’s what really matters.”

“True, but last time I checked, people tend to like hiring qualified bards.”

Flambard flashes her a grin. “But Reif, I am a qualified bard.” He stops playing a moment to reach into his coat pocket and pull out an envelope, which he then hands to the elf. She takes out its contents and scoffs. “That piece of paper is proof enough for anyone who questions me.”

Another scoff. “But it’s fake.”

“But it looks real. Only someone who’s truly familiar with the college’s certification would be able to spot the difference. To your average person, I’m a certified bard from the College of Lore.”

Reif smirks. “Well then, it’s a good job I’m not your average person.”

For a third time Flambard bites his tongue. He resumes his song, only this time his subject matter shifts to that of an unfriendly elven witch who thinks she knows more than she does. Reif bites her tongue.

* * *

He’s not sure how - or why for that matter - anyone can walk and read at the same time. It’s not that he couldn’t do it, because of course he could, it’s more that he’s unsure of why anyone would want to. He can just about understand reading in the comfort of your own home, or in a library; places better suited to reading, where you can remain undisturbed and sit (an important word here) in relative comfort whilst you get lost in the subject matter of your book, whether that be history or fantasy or cooking.

At least his travelling companion has finally slowed her walking pace to a more manageable one.

Still, with her nose firmly planted in her book and his lute resting on his back for safety’s sake, he’s found himself somewhat bored. Flambard decides to change that, and swings his lute around and begins playing a little ditty. Right on cue, Reif scowls and places her marker in her book before closing it. He grins up at her. “Good book?”

“It was. Until someone ruined my nice quiet.”

“What? I just thought you needed some light reading music. And to look up from that thing and pay attention to your surroundings. We don’t want you walking into any trees, now do we?”

Reif rolls her eyes and shakes her head. “I can navigate my way just fine, thank you.” As if to prove her point, the elf sidesteps a tree which she surely must’ve seen. Surely. “Now, if you’ve finished airing your concern…” She waits all of one second before opening her book again and removing her marker.

Flambard strums his lute obnoxiously.

“You know what your problem is? You rely on those too much. Books are great springboards for learning new things, but they can’t give you first-hand experience. You have to go out and actually try the things you read.”

Reif smirks, which given their current conversation worries Flambard just a little. “You know what, you’re right. Perhaps you can help me with this new spell I’m trying to learn.” Before Flambard can protest, the warlock has already delved into one of her many pockets and withdrawn a small, straight piece of iron. Flambard swallows thickly. “Now hold still please. This will make things easier for the both of us.”

Before the bard has time to scurry away, Reif’s muttering a few words under her breath and a giant ethereal hand is closing in around him. It fades away before it fully clasps around him. Flambard sighs in relief.

“Drat. I almost had it that time.” She grins, hand still firmly around her piece of iron. “Oh well, practise makes perfect I suppose.”

Flambard starts running before she can reach him.


	4. The Pact Of The Blade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Voices come to her in the night. But none of this is really real...right?

It’s late when the voices start. Whispering, itching voices that paw at the back of her mind, filling her ears with a chatter she can’t block out. _Get up._ She squeezes her eyes shut, tries to will them away. They grow louder. _Get up. Get up I say._ She shakes her head, but they talk relentlessly in her ear. _Don’t make me ask again_. Reluctantly, she opens her eyes.

The rest of the party are still fast asleep and the fire has now dwindled down to its ashes, glowing gently with what little warmth remains. In the sky, the moon illuminates the landscape, the night clear and cold. Reif shivers as she leaves the confines of her sleeping roll and approaches the dying fire.

_Re-ignite it. _

She waves a hand and the cinders spark back into life with a roar. She shields her eyes with her arm, the light blinding her for a moment before it simmers down into a smaller, steady flame. Reif looks around. No sign of movement. “What now, Mother?”

_I have been watching your progress. It is pleasing to me. _

She shivers. “Thank you, Mother. Your guidance has been of great help to me.”

She feels a ghost of a smile in her mind. _I wanted to reward your progress. _

Reif’s heart swells with joy. This is what she’d been hoping for. What she’s been wanting. More. She tries to remain calm. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

_But I will need your arm. _

She falters. “I-I’m sorry?”

_Your arm. I need it. Cut it off. _

Reif pauses, reluctant to do as commanded. The figure scowls and crosses her arms. _I thought you were loyal to me, Child. Don’t you want what I have to offer you?_

“Yes, of course I do,” she answers quickly. “I am. I just- of course, Mother.” Her hands are shaking as she takes the dagger from her belt and presses it to her skin. The voice in her head tells her where to place it, and before she has time to think too much about what she’s doing Reif is sawing through flesh and bone, tears streaming down her face as she bites back her screams of pain.

When she’s done, the flames help close the wound. A hand strokes her hair comfortingly. _Very good. I knew you loved me really. Here. As promised, your reward. _

It feels strange. At first, Reif thinks it’s just her mind playing tricks on her, remembering the limb that was there but a moment ago, remembering what it felt like to have someone take her hand in theirs. But then she looks down and sees her hand, still definitely attached at the elbow and no sign of blood anywhere. It’s changed though, blackened and charred like burnt wood, and in the cracks it glows like smoldering embers. She turns it over again and again, staring at it in both confusion and wonder.

_Open your palm. _

Reif does as instructed and a blade crackles into existence, bright and burning and real. She closes her hand around the grip and tries to fathom how such a thing an exist. The voice interrupts her musings. _Use it well, my Child. I would hate for you to squander my gifts. _

“I won’t let you down, Mother.”

With that the voice is gone and so is the fire, leaving Reif alone in the cold moonlight.


	5. Tolerable

She almost misses the sound. His shrill shrieking is so similar to his usual (what he claims to be) singing that she thinks nothing of it at first. She’s gotten used to blocking it out, pretending it doesn’t exist because heaven knows she hasn’t found a way to consistently make him stop yet.

But then it continues. And continues. And continues. Normally, she would try and whack him around the head, or trip him up to make it stop. But that requires him to be present, and right now, she realises suddenly, the bard is nowhere in sight. Under any other circumstances that would be a cause for celebration for Reif, but given Flambard’s incessant shrieking, she would much rather find him and put an end to her headache.

He’s easy enough to find, his shrieks a perfect trail for her to follow. When she finds him, he’s tied to a tree and being prodded and poked by three shoddily armoured men.

“We could cook him?”

“You will do no such thing.” His voice bears the same indignant tone that Reif is all too familiar with.

“Look at ‘im! There’s ‘ardly any meat on ‘im. Nah, I say we find ‘is mates and ransom ‘im off for an ‘efty fee.”

“What’s going on here?”

The bard’s eyes light up at the sight of his compadre, something neither of them had ever thought would happen. “Reif! Thank goodness you’re here! These idiots think they’re going to eat me. Or sell me. Which, by the way, both are terrible choices. Your best option is in fact releasing me to my friends so that I may deliver swift justice upon you for your crimes.”

A pommel to the face shuts Flambard’s ranting up. Reif simply sighs and shakes her head. “Look gentlemen, he’s not worth your time and effort. He’s an annoying little bard, but he’s also my annoying little bard, and my travelling companions would be awfully put out if I were to return to their company without him. So spare yourselves the trouble and untie him, will you.”

They simply laugh.

Behind the group of bandits, Reif sees a figure spark into life. A ghost of a person, one that most would miss had they never seen it before. But she has seen him. Steve, Flambard’s unseen servant. The ropes around Flambard shuffle as Steve gets to work untying him.

It doesn’t take long for Reif to realise her true purpose in all this; she’s a distraction. It’s not something she’s wholly comfortable with, truth be told, but she wasn’t lying when she said her companions would miss Flambard’s presence. And she would hate to explain how she’d let him be kidnapped and possibly eaten.

With a reluctant sigh, she begins monologuing. “You know, it’s funny. I cannot stand the little halfling. He thinks himself a bard, you know. Even though he’s a terrible singer and an even worse lyricist. He seems to think that half rhymes are the same thing as full rhymes - despicable, I know. But let me tell you, the lengths that he will go to to convince you they do in fact rhyme - good grief, you’d think he was a gymnast, the way he twists and contorts things. Though we can all see that clearly that’s not true. I mean, just look at him. Those tiny little legs and those comically large feet. And don’t get me started on his body. That belly! He’s not pulling off any piriouttes any time soon, I can tell you.”

She sees the ropes begin to loosen and smiles.

“But I will say this. He’s awfully persistent. And creative. After all, it takes quite the mind to fabricate the things he envisions. And it takes an awful lot of willpower to hear me talk utter tripe about him and not blow his cover while he frees himself - rather easily, actually - from your shoddy, shoddy bonds.”

The bandits look then and find Flambard unbound and on his feet.

Reif looks past the bandits. “Would you like the first hit, or shall I?”

In a gesture Reif would later mark in her diary, Flambard motions for her to go first. She grins as she stretches out her hands, thumbs touching, and a cone of fire blasts from her palms. The bandits writhe in pain as flames engulf them, but their screams are masked by a loud crash that rings throughout the area. As they stand, pathetic and twitching in place, Flambard offers Reif the next hit. She bows in thanks before swirling her hands in the air, and three fireballs appear in her hands. The bandits protest, but it’s all for naught as one fireball each sends them flying into the air, past the horizon and past their line of sight. Reif and Flambard don’t bother to check if they land.

“I’m amazed you helped me.”

Reif chuckles quietly. “So am I.”

Flambard gathers his belongings from the bandits’ camp, then follows after Reif, who’s already begun heading back the way they came. “You know what this means, right?” She shakes her head. “You like me.”

“I wouldn’t go that far, halfling. I tolerate you.”

He shrugs. “I’ll take it.”


	6. Mutual Distaste

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even the most unlikely of companions can find common ground

She sits in the corner of the inn, glare fixed on the elf across the room. Around him are the majority of the inn’s patrons, their eyes wide with wonder as the elf’s staff spins and glows. The crowd cheers. Reif scoffs and takes another swig of wine.

“I see you don’t care for his flashiness either.”

She doesn’t need to look to see who’s joined her. Flambard pulls up a seat and glares with her. “He’s all show, but there’s no real fire. You’ve seen him in fights. Sure, he looks good, but he barely does anything.”

Reif drags her eyes away from the elf to her current companion. His eyes narrow as the crowd cheers again, and he twitches as someone tells him how amazing he is. “These people don’t know real skill.”

“You mean like yours?”

Normally, Flambard would regail her with a long explanation of his many many talents, and of how wrong she is to question him. Instead, he simply replies with, “Yes.”

Reif chuckles quietly. He really is annoyed.

Feeling uncharacteristically kind, she grabs her bottle of wine from the table and offers it to Flambard. He eyes her suspiciously. “Serious? I thought this was too good to drink, let alone to share with the likes of me.”

She shrugs. “What can I say? I’m feeling kind. Besides-” She opens her cloak and pulls out another two bottles, both as dusty as the first. “You didn’t really think I’d only take the two Marlin let me keep, did you?”

Flambard grins. “I knew there was a reason I liked you.”


	7. Order In The Court

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When you find yourself in hot water, someone with a high charisma stat can really save your hide

“Good folk, I am sure that this is all a big misunderstanding.”

Reif has done many things she had never thought she’d do. She’s seen (and fought) creatures she’d only ever read about in books. She’s learned spells she’d only dreamed of knowing. And she’s made friends. Actual, real life friends.

But one thing she’d never thought she’d do is stick up for the bard. It seems that life could still surprise her.

“Please, pray tell, how is this all a misunderstanding?”

“It’s very simple really,” Reif explains. “Flambard is an idiot.”

The halfling protests, but Reif holds up a hand to stop him. He pouts but sits silently. “He means well…most of the time. But sometimes he lets his ego speak for him, and his ego should never be given a voice, especially one as annoying as his.”

“How exactly is this helping me?”

Reif turns and shoots Flambard a sharp look. He huffs and crosses his arms. The Mayor motions for her to continue speaking.

“Thank you. As I was saying, he doesn’t think all too much before speaking. Which means that quite frequently he says dumb things. Things that can easily be taken out of context and misconstrued. Things like, oh I don’t know, what he’s accused of saying about you, m’lud.” 

“Taken out of context?” The Mayor beckons a short woman with a tight bun and a tight expression over. “Hilda? The records, please.”

Behind Reif, Flambard winces and shrinks into his chair.

The next five minutes are perhaps the most painful of Flambard’s life - at least, so far, anyway. Insult after insult is reeled off, each one claimed to be from his own lips. And as much as he’d like to, Flambard cannot deny that they did indeed all pass through his lips. Granted, some were projected with far less vigor or conviction than his original performance, but their meaning was not lessened. Especially if the jury’s reaction is anything to go off of. 

When it’s done, Reif can do little but nod as she tries to figure out how in the world she can talk their way out of this one.

“That is certainly damning evidence. Might I have a moment?”

As soon as the Mayor allows her, she bows her head in deep thought. She just needs something, any sort of hole they might have missed…

Her head snaps up.

“M’lud, just to be clear, you are aware that the tale you heard from this bard’s lips was in fact about a fictitious person in power, based on…your rival town’s ruler? Because that is who he was singing about, not your kind self.”

Flambard hangs his head. He was hoping for some enlightened point, something that would save him and his rump. And instead he was given that.

He’s doomed.

The Mayor pauses. “It’s about Dinglehorn, you say? I…was not informed of this. Hilda, why was I not informed of this?” The woman barely has time to stutter before he’s continuing. “Flambard Pennyfeather, you are hereby cleared of all charges against you. You are free to go.”

The bard’s eyes widen. “Really? Woo hoo!” Before the Mayor has time to change his mind, Flambard is holding out his hands for his shackles to be removed and is making a swift - but dramatic - exit out of the courtroom.

Reif follows behind him, bewildered. “I…can’t believe he actually bought that.”

“Yes, well, don’t say it too loudly. I don’t want him changing his mind. Those shackles were too tight for comfort.”

“They were slobbing off your tiny halfling wrists.”

Flambard rubs them unconsciously. “Yes, well, the fact they were on there was bad enough. Come on, let’s get out of here before his secretary convinces him he was conned.”

They’re a good few hundred yards away from the Courthouse before Reif pipes up, “Hey Flambard? Next time you want to get drunk and perform your new song which you literally just wrote right there and then on that tabletop; don’t.”

Flambard chuckles. “I make no promises.”


	8. Plan C

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lesson of the day: don't try and bluff your way through poker

Maybe if he stares at the cards for just a little longer he’ll work out how to play this damned game. His new ‘friends’ seem confident in their hands, so naturally he is too. He has to be. _Because he is. _Pegleg smirks and places another five gold pieces down on the table. Next to him, Reif’s eye twitches. She stiffens her back and places three of her own down. A few disapproving mutters, but she glares at the offenders and they quickly simmer down again. His turn. Ten gold pieces. A few taunting jeers, though most seem impressed by his balls (as they should be).

“Come on then, gnome. Show us what cards you got.”

Flambard throws them down and waits for the response from the crowd.

Laughter. At his expense. _Fuck_.

“Awww, little halfman lost all his money. Unless he’d like to try and win it back again?”

Flambard scowls. “Deal me in.”

The pirate smirks. “And the lady?”

“Would like to cut her losses whilst she still can, thank you very much. I’ll watch this last game.”

He shrugs and continues dealing out cards. “Please yourself. More money for me.”

Flambard watches as the rest of the pirates assess each card that’s thrown their way. He follows suit and splays them in his hand. Three clubs, a heart and a diamond. He groups the clubs together, rising in numerical value. Then he shuffles the heart and the diamond around, trying to look like he’s planning some amazing winning hand.

He has no idea what he’s doing.

The first throws down his cards. The other pirates suck in a breath and titter. Then the next. Another round of titters. They keep going until finally it’s his turn. Reif shoots Flambard an anxious look. He simply smiles confidently and mouths _I’ve got this. _

He places down his cards. The pirates laugh. _Fuck. _

Flambard grits his teeth. “Right then. Time for plan B.” With a swiftness that Pegleg wishes he could still muster, the hafling jumps onto his seat and extracts a pouch of rose petals from his pocket. “Reif, get ready!” Before she has time to ask _Why?_ he’s throwing the petals across the table and muttering _Sleep, damn it!_ under his breath.

The rose petals fall sadly. The pirates glare at him.

Reif sighs and withdraws an orb from her pocket, which she dances across her slender fingers. “Plan C, Flambard.”

The orb brightens and suddenly a group of ethereal hands appear and grasp the pirates. They struggle against them, but the hands are stronger than they are, keeping them firmly bound in place.

“Go!”

The bard doesn’t need telling twice. He grabs what he can carry then bolts out of the room, not risking a glance back. Reif is hot on his heels, scooping up what gold he missed, then wishing the gentlemen a pleasant evening before vanishing into the night.

By the time she loses concentration on her spell they’re long gone.

* * *

“You know, I feel like there’s a lesson to be learned here.”

Reif cocks her head curiously. “Oh? Please, do enlighten me.”

Flambard stops and shoots her a winning smile. “In future, let’s just stick to stealing from people the normal way. It’s far easier and saves wasting good rose petals.”

Reif chuckles, but agrees. “Oh, I almost forgot. I have a present for you.”

Intrigued by this sudden act of kindness, Flambard prompts her to _Go on_. He laughs as the warlock pulls a small wooden stump out from her cloak.


	9. Magpie

Reif is like a magpie. They’d learned this very quickly about her. She sees something vaguely magical and sparkly, and she goes running towards it without bothing to check for traps or any danger whatsoever. Tsk, what a novice. So it’s no surprise to Flambard that now she’s stuck in a magical cage which triggered when she pried yet another shiny bauble from a corpse’s hand - something, he might add, she did with far too much enthusiasm and ease.

“Fuck. _Fuck_. Hey, guys? Little help?”

The paladin sighs, but goes to help her. Flambard, however, holds a hand up to stop him. “No, hang on. Let her stay in there and learn a lesson.”

“Flambard,” she warns, but she can do little else. He smirks.

The paladin, however, is not in the mood for games. And is four foot taller than him. And is a dragon. “No, we have a noble task to complete, one which she is a part of.”

Flambard kicks at the dirt. “You’re no fun, you know that?”

“So I’ve been told.”

As the dragon approaches Reif, Flambard takes a step back and finds a place to watch from afar. Michael clutches his holy symbol in one hand and sends a prayer to the Triad. Suddenly, the air around Reif shifts and crackles. A few more sparks and then…nothing. Michael grunts in frustration. Reif laughs nervously, though it comes out more like a whimper. “Holy Mother, help me.”

Heat begins to spread through her fist, bright and blistering and burning. Reif tries to drop the sword, but she finds herself unable to let go. She cries out. “Michael! Help!”

“I’m trying to. Drop the sword.”

Reif glares. “I’m trying to.”

A light melody cuts through the air and the pair turn to look at the halfling, his lute now in hand. “Oh no, do go on. I just thought you might appreciate some background music.” Michael casts him another glare before returning to the task at hand. “You know, you really do need to lighten up, paladin. This mess is of her own making. She can stand to sweat a little.”

“It isn’t a matter of sweating, Flambard. It’s a matter of-” A discordant note cuts his train of thought, and the trio wince at the sound. The magical cage crackles.

Flambard narrows his eyes and cocks his head curiously. He strums again. Another bum note, another spark. He grins and begins a broken song, one so truly awful that under normal circumstances he would hate to have his name attached to it.

The cage cracks. The sword clatters to the ground. The paladin and warlock stare at Flambard in disbelief. “Did you just- how-”

“No need to thank me. You know what, actually-” A body slamming into him cuts off his change of heart, and Flambard dangles awkwardly mid-air as the warlock hugs him for far too long.

When she finally sets him down, Reif coughs awkwardly. “I-ahem-thank you. Now let us never speak of that again.”

Flambard brushes down his now crinkled shirt. “Agreed.”

She nods tersely before carrying on her way, making sure to retrieve her new sword first. The paladin rolls his eyes but follows. Behind them, Flambard uncrosses his fingers and grins.


	10. Children, Please

“Can I get anything else for you, sweet thing?”

The barmaid leans over a little more than truly necessary and flutters her eyelashes. Reif glances her way, then quickly back again as her eyes catch more than she’d bargained for. She clears her throat and prays that her cheeks are not as hot as they feel. “No. I-I’m good, thank you.”

A tender hand rests briefly on hers and Reif’s eyes shoot wide. “You just give me a shout if you need anything, alright? I’ll just be right over here.”

Beside her, Flambard is grinning. “Oh don’t worry, she will,” he calls after the barmaid as she leaves to continue with her work. Reif shrinks into her seat and snuffs the nearby candles out with a wave of her hand. Erghast rolls his eyes and reignites the one nearest to him.

Flambard directs his grin back towards Reif. “Well, she was lovely. Your type or not? I’m guessing yes given how your blush reaches even your ears.”

Reif curses and self consciously covers the tips with her hands. “She’s not - I’m not - shut up.”

“My my. Seems I touched a nerve. I bet you wish she was.”

“Children, please. Not at the dinner table.” The wizard looks up from his bowl of stew, a disdainful look etched into his aged features. He waves his spoon disapprovingly. “Some of us are trying to eat and would like a little less sexual innuendo to accompany it. And a little more light, if you please.” He waits and, after a moment’s pause, Reif relights the rest of the snuffed candles. Erghast nods, satisfied, and continues with his meal.

Out of the corner of her eye, Reif spots a familiar barmaid scurry towards their table, a small box in her hands. “Not to worry, not to worry. I’ve got - oh. I see you’ve fixed the situation. Guess I won’t be needing these after all.” Her expression sinks and she shoves the box in between her breasts. Reif swallows thickly.

Flambard chimes in. “It’s okay, she’s got it.” He leans in closer, “She’s got magic fingers. Go on, show the lady.”

Reif glares at him, but obliges. _Snap_. The candle in the centre of the table extinguishes. Erghast scowls. _Snap_. The smoldering wick reignites. The barmaid claps. “Oh my, how impressive.”

“It’s really not-”

“Not a big deal? Nonsense. Just think of all the magic those fingers can do.”

The barmaid sighs dreamily. Reif elbows Flambard in the ribs. “Thank you for your assistance. I am afraid, however, I cannot demonstrate any more for you. I’m,” she fakes a yawn, “terribly tired. Long day and all that.”

Reif tries to leave, but Flambard persists on her behalf. “Yes, busy busy day slaying monsters and saving the city. You know, the usual hero work. Perhaps you heard my tale of our heroism earlier? I believe I saw your face in the crowd, utterly enthralled.”

The barmaid blushes.

Reif rolls her eyes and pushes past the pair, earning a snarky comment from the halfling. She easily ignores it.

“You know, she’s not the only one around here with magic fingers.”

Erghast shakes his head and watches as the halfling tries to woo the woman for himself.

He smiles as the barmaid walks away, unimpressed.


	11. Reward

She feels it not long after sleep has set in. That niggling voice that eats away at the back of her mind, that creeps through the peace and quiet of her rest to pull her back from it. She frowns and tries to ignore it. Not now. Not after the day she’s had. She needs to rest.

_Now. _

The voice is insistent. It paws persistently at her door and throws the covers up off her feet. It paces past her face, tail brushing against her cheek and her nose and her forehead and-

“Fine. I’m up.” A flick of her wrist and Reif ignites the candles in the room. She squints as her eyes fail to adjust quick enough to the sudden shift in light, then curls her fingers and dims the flames. She stifles a yawn. “How can I serve you, Mother?”

The fire in the hearth roars into life. A_t least cover your mouth if you’re going to yawn in my presence. It’s only polite. _Reif mutters an apology. The voice smiles. _You have been doing well, my Child. I am pleased with you. _

Reif isn’t sure how to respond. “Thank you?”

_You are welcome. Here, a reward for your fine work. _The fire instantly extinguishes. A glimmer of gold glints in the ashes. Leaving the comfort of her blankets, Reif goes over and investigates. I_ know how much you love shiny baubles. Consider this motivation to continue your good work, as well as inspiration to strive for more. Because I do have more to offer. Much more. _

Reif turns the item over in her palm. A ring. It’s a simple piece, but well made. Solid. Gold with runes etched into the band that seem to glow like fire. She smiles and slips it onto her finger. “Thank you. I shall wear it well.”

_See that you do, my Child._


	12. A Word

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Few things are scarier for a warlock then a paladin wanting to have "a word"

“Reif, a word?”

Her hand freezes on the door handle, eyes flying wide open. She points to herself questioningly and the paladin nods slowly. Reif gulps, but follows him back down into the tavern below, her feet suddenly heavy.

He seats himself in a cosy corner, away from prying eyes and the fluttering eyelashes of the barmaid that had pestered him earlier that evening - though he can still feel her cast a glance his way every now and again, feel her shoot a glare at Reif. The warlock joins him reluctantly.

On the table a small candle flickers, its wick almost burnt out and wax pooling around its base. Reif waves a hand around it, extinguishing and relighting the flame with each pass of her hand. She watches for a moment as the flame dances, lets it calm her nerves.

Michael clears his throat. Her hand stills. “I wanted to offer you a word of advice. I have noticed some of the spells you used in ours last few fights. They’re new, yes?”

Reif nods.

“I want to be clear, I am not scolding you. I am merely voicing my concern and asking you to err on the side of caution.”

“I don’t-”

“Necromancy is a slippery slope, Reif.”

She cocks her head. “I don’t know what you think I’ve been doing but-”

“It’s okay. I am not angry at you. As I said, I am simply asking you to be cautious. You are a good person, Reif. I would hate for any evil to claim you.”

“Michael, I appreciate the concern, but I really don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t know anything about necromancy. “Reif laughs weakly. “Come on. You know me now.”

He nods solemnly. “Which is why I am concerned for you. I would hate for someone to take advantage of your…” The paladin struggles to choose his words wisely.

Reif chooses for him. “My…naivety? My lack of worldly experience?” She resumes playing with the candle between them. “I won’t lie and say that I know exactly what I’m doing, because if I’m being honest with you, I don’t. Not fully. I’m still learning more about my powers, about my sword, heck, about the world in general - there’s a lot that books just can’t teach a person.”

She looks sheepish. “What I do know is that I genuinely didn’t know I was using necromancy. I just thought the spells looked cool and were useful. That’s all. I promise.”

Michael looks her up and down, searching her face for any sign of deception. Reif squirms under his scrutiny. He nods once. “Alright. I believe you. But know that I am keeping a close eye on you.”

Reif extinguishes the flame and shuffles out of the booth with a smirk. “When aren’t you, Michael?”


	13. Glad I Could Be Of Assistance?

“You’re a good friend, you know that?”

Flambard chuckles softly and enjoys the warm fuzzy feeling her kind words create. Or maybe that’s just the alcohol doing its thing. At this point he doesn’t know and honestly he doesn’t care. All he knows is he likes it. “Well, I do try my best. And you know, you’re not half bad yourself either.”

Reif snickers, the sound stopping suddenly as she hiccups. Another giggle. “Coming from you that’s high praise. You may be a pompous, arrogant twat sometimes, but Gods damn it you’re still my friend and you have been here for me longer than any of these others.” She flails a boneless arm in the general vicinity of their companions, who are already in bed or off elsewhere in town.

“What about Michael?”

Reif scoffs. “What about Michael? We both know he doesn’t like me. He hangs around me like I’m going to summon a demon or something. I don’t know even that spell! I mean I could know it if I wanted to, but demon-summoning isn’t my thing, fire is.”

“I mean, there is the whole talking-to-the-voice-in-your-head thing you do sometimes.”

“That-” Reif begins to argue, but then stops, pointed finger hovering mid-air, and loses her train of thought. “-is not as bad as he makes out. Things just sound worse when he says them in that indignant monotone of his.” Flambard mumbles a vague noise of agreement and reaches for his mug. More warm fuzzies spread through him and he smiles dopily. 

“But listen. You’ve been around the longest and not got fed up of me yet and I just - I dunno, normally people have realised I’m a shitty friend to have by this point, but you haven’t left me. So thanks for not dumping me, Flambard. And-”

She leans over and, before he can realise what she’s doing, Reif grabs his face and smooshes her mouth against the general vicinity of his. A second later she’s already retracting and scowling like she just bit into a lemon. “Nope. No. Not for me. No. Ignore that. Just had to clear something up in my head.” She pats him a little too hard on the arm and reaches for her own drink. “It’s all clear now.”

Flambard looks on, confused. “Glad I could be of assistance?”


	14. The Battle For Buckenstadt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When all hell breaks loose, Reif wonders why she has to do the right thing.

Sometimes she wonders why she’s still with these people. They have no familial ties, no obligations towards one another. They’re just a group of people who happened to fall into one another’s company and set off into the world, trying to bring some light in this dark place.

And sometimes she even forgets the why and simply enjoys herself. Enjoys the praise and the glowy feeling that comes with gratification for a job well done. Enjoys the gold and the trinkets. Hell, sometimes she even enjoys the company.

But then there are times like today. When the glowy feeling vanishes and she’s left with another type of feeling. A tightening of the collar, of sweat dripping down her neck. Of her heart trying to break free from her ribcage as panic sets in.

Why couldn’t they have just turn tail and run like she’d said? Why did they have to listen to Michael and run in, metaphorical guns blazing, to save the day? Why had she helped him?

Reif stares down at the arrow lodged in her calf and sighs. “Mother, give me strength.” She bends and snaps the ends off, just missing the second arrow that sails over her head. She pauses, still bent double, as it sticks into the ground nearby.

“Fucking archers. Fuck this. Why am I even here?” She backs up, heading towards the nearby alley for shelter. She’s still not covered, but it’s better than being out in the open.

Reif reaches into her cloak and pulls out her flask, takes a deep swig. A warmth passes through her, pushes the remaining arrow shaft out of her leg and closes the entry hole. She winces as the alcohol’s sting lingers. “I am not dying in this mud-sodden city. No fucking way.”

She peeks out from her hiding place. More dragonborn approach in the distance, joining those already in the square. The mages remain firmly on their high ground, throwing fire left right and centre. Across the square, the church continues to burn. Screams ring in her ears, desperate cries for help that are only answered by flames. Her chest tightens.

Reif steps out of the shadows. “Let’s do this.”


	15. As The Smoke Settles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set just after the Battle of Buckenstadt, as the events of what just transpired sink in

Smoke still lingers in the air, mingles with the clouds to form something somehow even more foreboding and ominous than the skyline which had greeted their return to Buckenstadt. The purple haze of the sorceress’ spell is long since gone, replaced instead by the deep navy of the night sky and the flickering embers of the last remnants of daylight, but the sombre feeling left behind still hangs heavy in the air. 

Behind her, the fire crackles steadily. _Snap_. Normally, it’s a sound that would bring Reif comfort, but after the day they’ve had all it does is set her nerves on edge. _Snap_. She toys with one of the rings on her fingers and tries not to let her mind wander. Back to flying debris and screams. To roaring flames engulfing buildings and people alike. _Snap. Snap. _

She hears a sigh. _Well, that could certainly have gone better. _

Reif squeezes her eyes shut. Not now. Please, just give her one night. One night to feel sorry for herself and to feel sad and shitty about a shitty day. Just one night alone with her thoughts, with no higher being sharing their (admittedly correct) criticism on what she could’ve done better. Because she already knows she could’ve done better.

“Then again, it could’ve gone worse.”

Her eyes shoot open. The halfling is sitting beside her, flask in hand and a tired look on his usually jovial face. He offers her a drink. Reif accepts and ignores how badly her hand shakes as she takes the flask from him.

“I mean look, we got a few people out alive. I think Benjamin’s even fine now thanks to the paladin.” Flambard chuckles. “Stubborn fucker. He just couldn’t leave a man behind, could he? You have to give it to the guy, he’s certainly dedicated to his cause.”

Flambard stops. “Hey, are you okay? You look a little…off.”

“Off?” Reif nods slowly. “Yeah, that’s one word for it. Off.” She stares back at the city. The monotonous _clink_ of the blacksmith’s hammer fades into the _snap_ of the fire.

Reif sighs. “Today was shit. We arrived too late to stop anything and too late to do any actual good, so instead we had the pleasure of watching a city burn from the inside out. And then right when we thought we’d at least saved some people, everyone got fucked over and their homes and few remaining possessions and loved ones were turned to stone right before our eyes. So what was the fucking point of everything we did?”

Flambard scowls. “I’ll admit, it is bleak when you put it like that.” Reif scoffs as she takes a swig of wine. “But focus at the positive. We took down the sorceress’ general and made a nice deep dent in her army. We saved people. Granted, not as many as perhaps we’d like, but not everyone died back there and that’s what matters.”

Another scoff. “You’re just saying that because you actually did something today.”

“Now you listen here, Reif.” His eyes focus on her, burn with an intensity greater than the fires they’ve seen that day. He waits until her gaze is fixed on him before continuing. “I’m only going to say this once because Flambard Pennyfeather does not repeat himself.

“You did good today. You may not think you did because your spells didn’t hit as hard as you’d’ve liked and you didn’t get an epic fight like Michael did. But you saved at least one life that none of us ever spotted and then you got her out of there and you healed her. And yes I know you feel bad because you don’t know any healing magic. But you did one better and gave up one of your potions to save her, despite knowing how precious a resource they are for you since you can’t cast a healing spell without it also being laced with necrotic energy that then sends our dear paladin over there into a frenzy.

“So stop wallowing in self-pity and take some pride in your actions. Because you did good today. You just need to start seeing it. Because I do and so should you.”

She stares at him then, long and unblinking, and for a moment Flambard things she’s going to hit him. Then all of sudden she moves and Flambard tries (and fails) not to flinch as he braces himself for impact. Nothing. Confusion hits him then, much like the slap he’d pre-emptively braced for, and Flambard finds himself wrapped up in Reif’s arms, his body pressed tight to her breast. To his relief, her cloak hides his confusion.

Reif looks away sheepishly when she finally lets him go. She wipes at her face with the edge of her sleeve then scrunches it in her fist. “If you tell anyone that happened…”

He smirks, but his usual edge is softened. “You think I’d tell anyone I was nice to you? Please, I have an image to protect.”


	16. Any Yet...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The party suffered a loss. We are still not okay

No one speaks at camp that night.

They all sit together yet far apart, each keeping to their own little corners.

Varys is the furthest away, his gaze flitting between everyone then quickly away again, watching for any signs of emotion then fleeing as soon as a whisper of their attention turns his way. Nearby, his pet kobold waits patiently for his master’s attention. He does not give him it. Yip waits patiently.

Freya, their new companion (their temporary companion, Reif reiterates to herself), stands watch over the group from afar, too guilty to approach them and too tired to continue her argument with the paladin. Any second now she looks like she might succumb to the sleep she so desperately needs, but then she catches herself and stiffens her back again. Reif wishes she’d just do them all a favour and go to sleep already.

Erghast sits by the fire, a comfortingly familiar sight, with Ashke at his side. The two have finally stopped their one-sided bickering and have resigned themselves instead to awkward silence. Ashke remains in her tortoise shape, safe and sound inside her shell. At least Reif assumes she is, since she’s yet to utter a single word. Erghast retreats to the safety of his robes as well and rubs at his eyes with the heels of his hands. He looks like he’s aged another decade in that tunnel. Reif wonders grimly how many more he can weather.

Michael had stayed with her for a time. Or rather, he had stayed with Flambard. The two of them had tended to him and done what little they could to help his fractured mind. However, once the realisation of the situation set in, so too did Michael’s anger. The steady _thunk_ of metal meeting stone rings out across the campsite throughout the night. Freya winces with each one. _Good_.

Reif only half-registers her companions’ company, not that she cares about any of them right now. Whilst the tunnels had technically affected her the least, she is numb. Her mask of mirth had quickly slipped and given way to a sombre numbness as her attention fixed on Flambard. He should be trying to lighten the mood with music. Or plotting his revenge with Varris and earning disdainful looks from Michael who (for once) would agree with them, at least in part. He should be well.

But he is not.

Reif’s chest tightens as she gazes upon his troubled face. Her throat constricts and her eyes sting. She did not think she would feel this way about the bard - about Flambard. Silent tears run down her cheeks. She did not think she would miss him.

And yet.


	17. Farewell, Flambard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We are still not okay

“Ah, here you are. We were wondering where you’d gotten to.”

She didn’t hear the door open, nor the paladin enter the room, too lost in her own thoughts. Reif looks up and acknowledges him, but says nothing. Michael closes the door behind him. “I wanted to come and say goodbye to him before we leave. I guess you beat me to it.”

Reif strokes Flambard’s hair absentmindedly. She hasn’t moved from her watch in four hours. The monks said they’d look after him, but she insisted she remain by his side until they left. She hadn’t thought those hours would go by so quickly.

“I haven’t brought myself to say the words yet. I know he’s not dead, but…”

Michael comes and sits on the floor beside her. “You said it yourself last night. We’re going to end this once and for all and make his sacrifice worthwhile. And then a year or so down the line, we’ll come back and fill him in on all the crazy shit he’s missed and pick back up where we left off.” Reif’s expression remains unchanged. Michael places a hand on her shoulder. “This is the best place for him right now.”

She sighs. “I know.”

She takes a deep breath in and meets Flambard’s sleeping gaze. “We’ll be back for you soon, okay? We just need you to come back to us first. Then you can get back to annoying the crap out of me with your shitty singing.” She almost expects him to open his eyes and tell her that clearly she doesn’t know talent when it’s looking her right in the face. But he doesn’t. She swallows the lump in her throat.

Reif’s attention shifts to one of the monks across the room, currently busy in their morning routine. “Hey, you guys take good care of him. He may not mean as much to those pillocks upstairs, but he’s our friend and it’s taking a lot for us to leave him in your care. So just…make him better. Please.” The monk nods and reassures her that he’ll be safe with them. Reif does not back down.

Michael’s hand returns to her shoulder and she relaxes.

“Farewell, Flambard. Until we meet again. And we will meet again.” He places a hand on the halfling’s head and mutters a prayer to his Gods. Once done, the paladin stands and offers Reif a hand up. She pauses a moment before accepting, then with a final glance back at her friend she lets Michael lead her back up and outside to rejoin the others.

“He’ll be okay, Reif. I know it.”

Reif wonders when Michael got so good at lying.


	18. Both Is Good

Reif makes sure to tread unnecessarily loud as she approaches the dragonborn. His head is bowed, his mind lost in quiet contemplation and prayer, just as it has been for the last two hours now.

She clears her throat and Michael looks up. It takes a second for his eyes to adjust to the dim glow of the fire’s light, but then he sees her, stood sheepishly with two cups of tea in her hands. “I thought you might like some.”

He mutters a quiet word of thanks and takes the offered cup. When Reif sits down and joins him, he doesn’t protest.

“How are you doing?”

He snorts. “Physically or mentally?”

“Either or.”

Michael shakes his head.

Reif nods. “Yeah, me too buddy. Me too.”

“I just- I should’ve done more to help him. I could’ve done something more.”

“Like what?” Reif asks. Michael has no answer for her, only starts of unfinished sentences. He sighs.

“Look, right now we need to focus less on the why did this happen and more on the how do we fix this. Because we know why this happened. We were trying to get to Destin to defeat the sorceress and put an end to this chaos. So I think the least we can do to make sure that we honour Flambard is we finish this damned mission and kill that fucking bitch. Okay?”

A small smirk quirks Michael’s mouth. “Which one?”

Reif shrugs. “Both? Both is always good.”


	19. Maybe Next Time

They’re used to her visits by now.

Every first Potsmas she arrives, basket of offerings in hand and a cautiously optimistic gleam in her eyes.

Other visitors come with her sometimes; acquaintances curious about his progress and old friends eager to see him restored to his former self so he can rejoin their adventures. Most are hopeful, talking about how well he’s doing compared to before. Look, he’s eating by himself now. 

She, however, remains unmoved.

The monks leave her to it for the most part, knowing she keeps out of their way. First, sits in the Meditation Room, praying alone. When she finally emerges, she seeks him out, asks how he’s faring before joining his side. How much he responds depends on how well he’s doing that day, but he never responds quite as well as she’d like - they can see it in her eyes, in her slumped shoulders. She stiffens her back and her upper lip.

She remains with him then for the rest of her visit, alleviating his carer from their duties and taking them on for herself. If she tires, she doesn’t show it.

When she leaves, she is polite. Thankful. They thank her for her time and return her basket to her, complimenting this month’s treats. Flambard thanks her too, though for what he’s never quite sure. “Sorry, who were you again?”

Every first Potsmas she leaves disappointed, her basket empty and her gaze hollow.

Maybe next time.


	20. Maybe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Replacing someone is never easy. Joining a group in mourning is even harder

She’s still not used to this. To someone new in the party. Someone tall and quiet and non-musically inclined who doesn’t irritate her most of the waking day. He’s been helpful, that much is true, and he hasn’t said much to annoy her. Though, come to think of it, he hasn’t said much of anything at all.

Perhaps it’s for the best. Flambard will be back soon enough, once the healers work their magic and return him to his previous vibrancy. And then Brok will be on his way back to his Order and everything will be how it was before. Back when watch duty came with musical accompaniment.

“You miss him.”

“I’m sorry?”

Brok motions towards the pocket watch in Reif’s hand. “You’ve been thumbing that all night.”

Reif slips it back into her pocket, making sure that it’s comfortable before removing her hand. “Have I? I haven’t noticed,” she lies.

“You miss him.”

She smiles sadly. “He’s my friend. Of course I miss him.”

“You want him back.”

“He’s my friend.”

Brok bows his head. “Of course. Though, I think it’s safe to assume that his return would mean my departure, no?”

She shrugs. “I suppose. I haven’t given it much thought.”

He looks like he has more to say. Some words stuck on the tip of his tongue, itching to be spoken. But he bites them back and returns to his previous silence.

Reif breaks it.

“I’m sure you are a lovely person. And I have no qualms with you or your presence in our party - frankly we’ve needed another fighter for some time now, so you are a welcome addition. But I just watched my best friend regress back to his infancy after suffering great mental trauma. I’m not ready to let another into my heart just yet, not when it’s still mourning the loss of Flambard.

“I need time. Time to heal and to deal with everything that I’m feeling. Maybe then we can be friends.”

Brok nods. “Maybe.”


	21. Please

_Blessed Mother, hear my prayer. _

She sits by his cot, hands clasped and head bowed. Around them, dim sparks of light float like fireflies, barely illuminating his sleeping face. Her hair hides her features, hides the tears that streak her cheeks. But the stifling silence cannot mask her sniffling and she checks every time to see if anyone’s awakened.

_Restore his mind and return him to me. _

The others are elsewhere, fast asleep - at least she hopes they are. Even if she could sleep, she wouldn’t tonight. Not after seeing him again. Not after tearing the barely healed wound right back open.

His face scrunches in his sleep. Her chest clenches. The wound stings.

_Free him from the terrors he sees in his mind, soothe his pain with Your loving touch. _

She considers waking someone else, but talks herself out of it. What good would it do? What would they do? Hold her hand while she cries? She takes Flambard’s hand in hers and squeezes it. He does not squeeze back.

_Please, bring my friend back to me. _

Silence hangs heavy in the air. Flambard’s eyelids flutter. The lights in the air flickers in and out of life.

Reif holds her breath.

Flambard rolls in his sleep, his hand sliding out from her grasp. She releases her breath and a sob breaks through the cracks.

_Please._


	22. Delicate Operations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Being a magic-user who can't heal is shitty. Especially when you gave your health potion to someone you now don't like

“You need some help with that?”

Reif looks up from her makeshift setup, needle-tip poking out between her lips and thread dangling loosely down her chin. She speaks very carefully. “I’m fine.”

Brok crouches down beside her. “I bet.”

She feels his eyes rake over her setup, no doubt judging it. Everything is where it needs to be and easily within her reach. That’s all that matters. Especially since it hurts to move her arm too much right now. Reif tries to ignore him and go back to the task at hand, but he’s blocking her main source of light. She scowls and summons another globule.

“Let me help you. You don’t have enough hands for this, unless you learned mage-hand when I wasn’t looking.”

Her scowl remains fixed in place, but Reif weighs up her options. Another set of hands would be helpful. “Here.” She thrusts a mirror into his hands and positions him where she wants him. “Don’t move. You can do that, yes?”

Brok says nothing as she works, simply watches as she cleans the gash on her upper arm and does her best to stitch it back together. He knows it needs work, but he’s not about to earn himself a kick in the shins by critiquing her method. Not when he’s the one who used up most of the party’s healing spells.

When she’s wrapping up and less distracted he says, “I actually came here to thank you.”

She looks at him curiously.

“If I’ve learned anything in my time with you and your friends, it’s that they’re awful at sticking to the plans we make. Which, as the guy who’s always up in the front, sucks because I take the brunt of the damage.

“Now I don’t know how much of your plan was intentional, but it really helped save my ass and it helped us take that guy down. So, thanks. And thanks for letting me help you back.” He motions with the mirror in his hand, ready for a disapproving comment about his moving it. Instead, a sadness creeps over Reif’s face.

“We’ve made enough dumb choices already - myself included in that count. I didn’t want to let you down over a dumb sword.” She tries to usher the sadness away with a smirk. “And as much as I hate to admit it, you were right - this really was a two-man job. So thank you for sitting so patiently whilst I stabbed myself repeatedly.” She shows off her handiwork to him. “Come on then, let me have it. How bad is it?”

Brok already knows his answer, but he takes an unnecessarily long amount of time pretending to inspect it. Reif rolls her eyes. “I think…you’ll live. But only barely. It’s a good job you operated when you did, otherwise you might’ve lost the whole arm.”

She kicks him.


	23. A Problem Shared

“Shouldn’t you be sleeping?”

Reif looks up from her book to see who else has decided to join her down here in the wee hours of the morning, her only prior company the poor sod who’s left manning the main desk overnight. Making his way across to her table is Brok, dishevelled and visibly exhausted.

“I could say the same to you. You do not boast the benefit of elven lineage that I do.” Brok looks at her, puzzled and clearly too tired for her usual games. Reif simplifies. “You look like shit. Why are you awake?”

He looks at his feet. “I needed to think and Erghast’s snoring was making it difficult. I didn’t realise you’d be down here too. I can find somewhere else-”

“Nonsense. Sit your arse down. Tea?” He nods and she plucks a teacup from inside her cloak pocket. She pours. “So, care to think aloud? I hear that a problem shared is a problem halved. Though frankly I’ve never put much ilk into old wives’ savings, so make of that what you will.”

She notices him staring at nothing and asks, “Are you alright?”

Brok nods and stares into his teacup. A long moment of nothing passes, then another. And another.

She lets the subject drop.

They sit in silence, drinking their tea until the teapot is empty and cold. Reif contemplates asking for more water, but the sight of the sleeping steward makes her reconsider. Instead she returns to her book. Brok simply sits there and stares.

Eventually, Reif finishes her book. She closes it and gathers up her things, tipping the dregs from her cup into her teapot. “It’s late. Time for me to rest, I think.” She stands and inclines her head towards Brok. “Goodnight. Try not to let your thoughts keep you up too late.”

He barely registers her leaving, and by the time that he realises she’s gone, it’s too late to follow. Brok curses. “Well shit, I blew that, didn’t I?”


	24. The Best Laid Plans...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...gang aft agley

In theory, her plan was brilliant. Take out three beasts in one blast. Boom. Finito. Done. Excellent. No more rust monsters. Big reward. Everybody’s happy. Especially her. 

In theory.

But, as Reif had quickly come to learn in her time of adventuring, if a plan could go wrong it probably would. Ideally in a spectacular and devastating manner.

The execution of it all is easy enough. Palms open, fingertips pointing towards her goal. She’s done it many times before, albeit with varying degrees of success.

It’s only after the fire blast has left her palms that she realises her aim was a little off.

The beasts screech as her flames engulf them, roasting them from their carapaces through, and leaving them smoldering wrecks. Another creature screams as well, its cry familiar enough to make Reif pause. Then she sees her, legs withdrawing under her body as Ashke tries not to show just how much that hurt.

Reif curses. “Shit. Sorry. I didn’t realise you were so close to them.”

Ashke twitches her spidery fangs in reply. Reif has no idea what she’s saying, but she hopes it’s forgiveness.

Reif kicks the dirt. “Would, erm, would doing your thing help with the, uh, with the burns?” She nods towards the nearby roasted monster corpses. Ashke clicks happily. “Excellent. I’ll, uh, wait over here.”

She tries to block out the sound of limbs being gnawed on. She fails.


	25. Pride Cometh Before The Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Insight check = natural 20  
Deception roll = 13

The group sigh in relief as their new fire elemental friend nods farewell and glides towards a crack in the wall, leaving their company and plummeting the room back to a regular level of light. Michael rushes to Brok’s aid, his hands already glowing with divine energy and ready to heal the monk. “What just happened?”

“Crazed mage,” Brok explains, panting. “We took out his dragonborn friend pretty quickly, but then the mage decided to summon some sort of fiend-”

“Fire elemental.”

Brok shoots Reif a _not now_ look. “-some sort of fire elemental and made it attack us. Thankfully, when we took out the mage, the elemental stopped attacking us. Bloody mage got in a good few hits first though.” He winces and rubs at his shoulder. It does nothing to help any of the other aches in his body, but it gets the message across that he’s hurting hard.

Michael shakes his head and lays a hand on his shoulder. “Here, let me help with that.”

Footsteps echo through the grand halls, accompanied by merry whistling. The group turns to see Varys sauntering through the doorway, a cluster of books tucked under his arms. Reif storms over to him and shoves him against the wall, sending the books clattering to the ground. “What the actual fuck, Varys? What happened to _the guys need help, come on?_”

He shrugs as well as someone pinned by the collar can. “What? They were fine. Look!” Brok glares at the elf, his swollen eye intensifying the effect.

Reif slams Varys against the wall again, and he whimpers pitifully. He looks to the paladin for aid, but receives none, Michael’s focus currently on more deserving tasks. 

Varys sniffles. Blood dribbles from his nose. Reif nods towards it. “What’s that?”

He stammers. “W-what, this? Must be from a corpse back in the library. Yes, it must’ve dripped down onto my face.”

Another slam. “Bullshit. That’s fresh blood. All the bodies in there were long since dead and definitely not bleeding.”

“Ah yes, but you see, you didn’t check the ceiling.”

“Yes I did. It had standard pointed arch vaults with minimal decoration since that didn’t appear to be the college’s main library, just a small school-specific one, so didn’t warrant extravagant architecture. There were no dead bodies up there, just ones buried under the rubble and skeletonised.” She leans in close. “Try again.”

He sets his jaw stubbornly, but Reif is just as stubborn, her gaze unwavering. Varys looks away and mutters quietly, “I’m telling you, a body dripped on me.”

Michael clears his throat. “If you’re quite done, we need to keep moving. You said there’s rubble ahead?”

Reif lets the elf go and heads out of the lecture hall and back towards the library. “Yes, it’s pretty ruined in there. Shelves overturned, books everywhere. No real floor space to speak of. So watch your feet, lest you trip and fall flat on your face and break your nose.”

Behind them, Varys grumbles.


	26. Promise?

“Do you promise?”

Everyone in the room holds their breath. Erghast nods slowly. “Yes. Now hand the staff over to my friend here.”

The dragonborn does as he says, his hands trembling. Staff in hand, Brok backs away, his focus never leaving the man grovelling on the ground before them. “There, you’ve got the staff. Now let me walk away.”

A familiar crackle catches the warlock’s attention. Erghast smiles slyly as the dragonborn’s eyes go wide. “Hey, we had a deal!”

Erghast nods. “That we did. But my friends made no such promise.”

He tries to scramble to his feet, but she’s expecting it. _Finish him._ One, two blasts of crackling green energy chase after him and hit him square in the jaw, his head snapping back. The dragonborn drops to the floor and slides down the lecture-hall steps, his head hitting each one with a sickening thud. The group watch as he slows to a stop at the bottom. He does not move.

_Well done, my Child._

After a few moments of stillness, Brok follows the warlock down the steps and nudges him with his foot. “Is he dead?”

Nothing.

He shrugs. “Alright, good fight guys. So, who wants this thing?”


	27. Save Her

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Admitting you're helpless is difficult. Especially to the person you don't like

She’s not breathing. Shit, she’s not breathing. _Check her pulse. _

Her eyelids flutter. Or do they? Gods, am I seeing things now? _Take her wrist. Find the pulse point. _

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. _Place two fingers on the vein on her wrist and check for a pulse. Come on Reif, do as I say. _

“Just shut up a second and let me think for a second!”

She’s frozen, a deer caught looking down a hunter’s arrow. She doesn’t know what how to do this. The voice in her head is trying to tell her, trying to remain calm whilst it issues instructions, but Reif’s panicking. She’s no good at this kind of thing, never has been. She can barely tend to her own wounds, let alone prevent death from taking hold of someone.

She can’t watch this happen again.

_Two fingers-_

Reif curses and growls, “Someone useful get over here! Now!”

Across the room the rest of the group is gathered, Brok’s hands firmly placed on the Medusa’s head and Michael rooted in front of her, mirrored shield held high as they try and use the sorceress’ own magic against her. Michael shouts back, “We’re a little busy here!”

Reif curses again. _Two fingers on the wrist. Listen, Child. _

A hand taps her shoulder and blue hair greets her. “Let me.”

Reif almost snaps at Varys out of habit, but the voice in her head tells her to keep calm and let him take over. She takes a breath and moves back. “Save her.”

Varys simply nods.


	28. The Beginning Of The End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day is saved, the battle is won, and somehow no one died

None of this feels real as they shudder away from Destin in their newly gifted carriage driven by new and friendly faces. None of them speak, too exhausted from almost dying and or from fully tapping their mental and physical resources. But it’s a comfortable quiet. They’re alive - mostly - and that’s what matters.

Erghast looks the worst, and every now and again they’ll check to see he’s still breathing. And then he grumbles incoherently and they sigh in relief. Not yet.

A niggling though weedles at the back of Reif’s mind. _What if he wanted to die in there?_ But she shakes it off. He’s just shell-shocked. And how could he not be after seeing such a destructive display of power again? One which had impacted his life so greatly, taken away friends and colleagues in the blink of an eye.

His voice had trembled when he’d recounted its power to the group.

The carriage jostles him as he tries to sleep, shakes him awake. He grumbles and cracks an eye open, then, after glaring at the world, closes it again. Reif hopes he gets the nap he deserves.

Brok slides the window of the carriage open and sticks his head out, searches for something in the moonlit night. But he’s squinting, his human eyes useless on anything other than the well-lit road around of them.

“What’re you looking for?” Reif stands up and joins him, her legs less sure than she’d like - she’s not used to this moving-vehicle malarky and it feels like the first time she stood on a frozen lake. Unstable. Like she’ll fall through and drown any moment now.

Like she’ll open her eyes and be back in that burning tower as it tumbles down around them.

She shakes the thought off and looks to Brok. “Home.”

Her sense of direction has never been great, but even she knows that you never forget where home is. Reif leans out of the window and uses her elf eyes to see what Brok cannot.

It’s pointless, she knows. Last time, they’d trekked away from the beaten path, away from the immediate line of trees and deep into the forest. And that was the first and last time the group had been to his temple. But she looks anyway, as does he. Despite this knowledge. Despite his human eyes.

Immediate darkness followed by the dim blue glow of light interrupts their search and, after a moment of readjustment, the pair sit down, defeated, their target long-since passed.

This tunnel - the Misvick Passage - houses only bad memories for them and Reif squirms uncomfortably in her seat as they pass through it, toying with the rings on her fingers, eager to leave. They pass through in what feels like mere seconds and Reif scowls in the dim light of the carriage, her opinion of this place further soured. It had been hours for them. Twelve gruelling hours. And one lost friend.

Shortly after exiting the tunnel, an unusually timid Varys speaks up. “I’m sorry if I seemed a bit off in there. I don’t know what came over me. I’m not normally so…disagreeable.”

Michael accepts his apology easily, as does Ashke, unsure of why he’s apologising in the first place. Brok has more insight into that - the fire elemental’s scorching heat is unforgettable, as is his brush with death - but he’s not one to hold grudges. Erghast grumbles as he pretends to sleep. Varys sighs in relief and thanks them.

Varys then looks to Reif, the most vocal during their journey through one college and up another. She stares at her hands, wondering if the Voice inside her head will give her some guidance.

Silence.

Varys clears his throat and looks away.

* * *

Passing Buckenstadt is difficult. None of them want to stay awake as they pass, but the familiar crackle of magic still lingers in the air, even at this distance, and sets their nerves on edge. Prevents any chance of rest, or the pretense of it. Erghast cracks his eyes open and scowls at nothing in particular.

“Why are we going so slow? Can’t they go any faster?”

Michael is the first to look outside. The town lies in the distance, but the damage is further spread. He bows his head. “They’re having to maneuver around the bodies.”

No one has moved them - not that anyone can. The statues outside the town are exactly where the blast had caught them, where the townspeople had been as they’d tried to flee the city. Where poor souls who’d tried to help had met their maker. _At least few seem to have shattered,_ Michael thinks. A mild relief in the town of stone.

Reif wonders if anyone will try and heal them. She knows there are magics that can do that, but perhaps they’re too far gone. She doesn’t know enough about this sort of magic to assess that - Reif makes a mental note to find books on the subject, learn all she can about it, not that it’s much help after the fact.

In the corner of the carriage, quiet as always, Ashke is curled up - has been since they convinced her to come back to being a gnome and get in the damned carriage. They’re used to her saying little of anything, but tonight is different. Heavy. Sombre.

“I’d like to go home, I think.” They all look at her, silence finally broken. She doesn’t uncurl from her ball. They all nod slowly, understanding.

“If that’s what you think is best.”

“You’ve done brilliantly.”

“We’ll miss you.”

She smiles, barely. “I’ll miss you guys too.”

* * *

It feels like forever ago when they first travelled down this road, a merry band of newly formed misfits trying to be adventurers - a different band of merry misfits to this one, at least mostly. Michael looks across at Reif, shares a knowing glance. They’re the only original two left now.

Reif isn’t sure whether to be sorrowful or joyous at how different a person she is now from the girl who first walked this road complaining that her feet hurt. She’s more worldly, and yet still she knows so little. More powerful, yet she still has so far to go. She wonders who she’ll be the next time she comes down the Way.

Thoughts turn to her parents, to the home she left behind to come on this grand adventure of hers. She regrets not writing a farewell note, just packing up her essentials and leaving before anyone could try to stop her. Did they look for her? Did they notice?

She’s had little chance to write to them since they last set off - no, that’s a lie. She’s had plenty of chance, plenty of nights and rests where she could’ve put quill to paper and let them know she’s not dead. But she hasn’t.

Reif takes out her moleskin and makes a note to write to them, tell them of her adventures - leaving out the brushes with death, of course. She thinks perhaps to include a few souvenirs as proof. A basilisk fang, a kenku feather.

Reif wonders if they’ll believe her, even then.

Her thoughts drift to the rest of the misfits she’d travelled with, however brief their time may have been. Arianni and Creed and Eglanor. Creed is still the biggest mystery. He’d crashed through a magical portal into their lives and disappeared just as quickly back out of it. To this day they still have no idea what that was all about. Arianni and Eglanor had also disappeared, slunk off into the shadows - when didn’t they? - leaving a hole in the group which was surprisingly easily filled. She hopes they’re doing well and not locked up in some jail cell - or worse yet, statues amidst the field. She never spotted them, but then she hadn’t looked for a familiar face - why would she?

She hopes they’re well.

* * *

The dawn is breaking as the carriage shudders to a stop. The group grumble and stretch and try to see what’s going on, though all they really do is create a pileup by the window.

“What time is it?”

“Where are we?”

“Can I get out yet?”

“I feel sick.”

The door opens and they almost tumble out, though Michael stops the worst of it. One of the new and friendly faces greets them. “We’re here, folks.”

“You mean-”

“That’s right. Welcome to Jordan.”


	29. Love, Ashke

It’s late when Ashke turns in for the night, later than Reif would’ve expected of the gnome. She tiptoes in, at least as best as she can manage, quietly closing the door with a click behind her. Ashke glances over in Reif’s direction and is surprised to see the elf asleep - mostly because she likes to boast how elves don’t actually sleep - but then her eyes open, bright dots in the dark room, and she sits up.

She wobbles a little, the motion too quick for one with so much alcohol in their system, and Reif has to take a moment to steady herself. Ashke chuckles. “Sorry, did I wake you?”

“Nah, I’d only just laid down.” A lie. Despite the warm cloud that had settled in her brain, the events on the last few days were still whirring around in there noisily. And up here, in the deafening quiet of their chambers, the din of the feast below does little to drown it out.

Ashke doesn’t question it, instead kicking off her boots and changing into something less stifling and formal. Something more her. She wonders if Reif knows she’s still in her borrowed gown.

“You have a nice chat with Darcy?” The gnome pauses, top caught over her head, and mumbles a reply. “She looked really happy. I’m glad. She deserves some good after…this shit.”

Ashke keeps her back to Reif. “I don’t know what to do. I want to go with her, but-”

“Go be happy. Go find strange and exotic plants with a cute and excited botanist who’s eager for your company.” A pause, then, “You did give her an answer, right?”

“Yes.”

She turns and, even in the grey darkness, Reif can see the exhaustion on her face. The conflict. It makes Reif’s heart ache to see someone so joyous look so tired. “I feel bad for leaving you guys.”

Reif’s expression softens and she opens her arms, beckons Ashke over. “Come here.” Ashke lets Reif’s pull her into her warm embrace and she leans against Reif’s chest, listens to her heart beat. “We’ll all support you, no matter what you do. If you need to go do your own thing, then go do your own thing. Don’t stick to a path you’re not happy on just because you don’t wanna upset other people. We’re big boys and girls. We’ll live.”

Ashke chuckles, the sound a little lighter than before. More relaxed. Reif kisses the top of her head. “Go on. Be selfish. Look after yourself. We’ll be okay.”

“If I give you a letter, can you make sure everyone reads it? I’m not good at this whole goodbye thing.”

Reif nods.

They sit in silence for a moment, then she breaks it again with a hopeful smile. “Do you wanna spoon one last time then? I mean, I assume you’re not writing that letter this instant? And I give great hugs.” She sings the last part.

Another chuckle and Ashke (after feigning reluctance) agrees and assumes her usual position, safely wrapped up in Reif’s body.

She’ll miss this, she thinks sadly. But it’s for the best, and that, despite their sorrow, is what matters most.

* * *

Bonus, the letter: 

_To my dearest fellow adventurers and friends, _

_I’m leaving you this note because goodbyes are really hard for me. The truth is, I’ve not been myself since we all almost lost our minds in the tunnels and my own brush with deaths, as well as losing friends, watching innocent lives being ruined …all of these memories will haunt me for many years to come. _

_So I have gone back to the forest to spend time with my remaining spider-limbs. _

_Darcy approached me for some low-key adventure and knowledge quests which I know will be exciting for us both. I hope that by reconnecting with my roots, and by teaching another about my people, I might feel like myself again sometime. _

_If you ever venture to the shadowy woods of the east, you might come across little Shelly, eating some lettuce; or maybe a lonely dark wolf, sniffing some trees. Maybe you’ll find a giant snake or spider (who will definitely not eat you). _

_Anyhow, I hope this is not goodbye. Thank you for the adventure and for saving my life. Thank you for the friendship and the many, many things I learned along the way. _

_All the best in your next adventure until we meet again. _

_ Love, Ashke_


	30. The Lion's Den

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The group picked a bad time to decide to stay in Jordan with a dragonborn in their party

The air is cooler now than when they’d arrived in the city earlier that morning, the smoke and heat from the distance finally clearing and giving way to the cool seasonal breeze that normally blows through the air. It’s quieter out here too - between the time of day and everyone of note being gathered inside the Lion’s Den, the streets are clear and the city is somewhat calm.

Which makes this a great hiding place for one such as Michael.

He looks off towards the port, obscured by many building, his shoulders heavy and his head bowed. Brok approaches carefully, noisily. Best not to sneak up on him accidentally. “Hey. Needed some fresh air?”

Michael turns to see who’s found him, then, seemingly happy for him to stick around, Michael turns back to his gazing. “You could say that. It’s very loud in there.”

Brok nods. “People do love a good sing-song. And the King certainly seems to be enjoying himself.” A little too much, many might argue. Especially his Thane. But who’s going to tell the King to get down from the table and stop having a good time? It certainly won’t be either of them, that’s for sure.

“He is the King, after all. If anyone’s going to enjoy themselves tonight, you’d hope it’s him.”

“And what about you? Not in a celebratory mood?”

Michael keeps his gaze fixed out at sea. On the horizon a boat is coming their way, soon to greet the great port of Jordan. He sighs. “No. To be honest, I think I’ve outstayed my welcome tonight.”

Brok joins Michael at his perch, rests his elbows against the stone wall and leans, looks out to sea with him. He’s still not used to this whole ‘being a head smaller than someone’ thing. But Brok would be surprised if Michael was shorter, that being the nature of a dragonborn.

He’s never found the paladin to be overly threatening. Intimidating, yes. How could he not be? A fearsome and devoted warrior with unmatched loyalty both to doing good and bringing justice and to his friends. Most people don’t have the stickability for loyalty such as his.

But his scales and large stature apparently put many off. And given the country’s recent plight, it’s easy to see how his welcome could quickly wear thin.

“Nobles are short-sighted twats.” Michael looks to him, confused. Brok shrugs. “What? You think I was born a monk? I used to be a twat like them too. Still am, sometimes. I’ve just gotten better about it.

“But those twats,” he motions back towards the Den. “They don’t know how to stop gossiping for five fucking seconds and just look up. They’ll forget about all this in a week or so. And then you’ll go back to being an exotic curiosity to them again and they’ll continue to dine on their fine meats and drink their fine wines in their fine houses.”

“I don’t even want the glory,” Michael says sadly. “I didn’t do this for any other reason than to help bring justice where it was needed. To take out evil magicks and avenge a fallen friend.”

Brok pats his shoulder and leaves his hand there affectionately. The pair stand there in silence, the thrumming from the banquet still in full swing behind them and the occasional cawing of a seagull overhead. Brok looks up to make sure none fly too closely.

After a while, Brok moves. “Hey, I’m gonna see what more food I can swipe before they clear it all away. You coming?” Michael shakes his head. Brok nods. “What do you want me to say if anyone asks where you are?”

Michael shrugs. “I don’t know. Tell them I went to bed or something. I don’t care.”

Another nod and Brok pats Michael’s shoulder, readies himself to enter the Lion’s Den once more. “I’ll see you back at the room.”


	31. Stay

His door’s left open, the soft glow of firelight spilling out into the corridor and pooling around her feet as she stands there, frozen in place. A gentle hum welcomes her, matches the murmur of celebration from the heart of the city, of feet stamping and mugs hitting tabletops and people celebrating. In here it’s quieter, subdued. Calm. Unlike her thoughts.

Her heart drums along to the beat, her fingers dance by her sides, palms sweaty. She wipes them on her cloak before raising a fist and knocking on his door.

The humming stops. “Yes?”

“Am I interrupting anything?”

He shakes his head and motions for her to come inside. Reif closes the door behind her and takes a moment to inhale a calming breath. Good air in. Bad air out. Hands steadier, she turns and joins him by the fire, basking in its warmth. Not that she really gets cold anymore, but its glow brings a familiar comfort, something sorely needed right now.

“I can’t believe how nice these rooms are. It’s been a while since I slept on a bed this comfy.”

“The King was certainly very generous.” Brok mutters his agreement, but makes no pretense of smalltalk and lets the subject drop as quick as it came. She’s happy to let it and the pair stand there in comfortable quiet, broken only by the thrum from outside and the crackle of the fire.

“So what brings you here? You only usually seek me out when you want to talk.” 

Reif’s eyes go wide for a moment, but then her expression softens into one of amusement. “I’m that obvious, am I? I just wanted to come and tell you how glad I am that you’ve decided to remain with us, despite your previous mission now being accomplished. I have…come to admire your skills both on and off the battlefield, and I appreciate your company and I would’ve been sorely sad to see you leave.”

Brok smiles and thanks her with a bow. “And?”

Reif exhales a nervous laugh. She toys with her rings and takes a step towards him, eyes fixed on her feet. “And…I am unsure of how to say what else I want to say, so-” She closes the space between them, stretching slightly onto her toes and bracing herself against his forearms for balance as she kisses him. She’s hesitant and, when he doesn’t immediately reciprocate, afraid. She pulls back. “I’m sorry, that was- Sorry. I just thought- If I read things wrong then please, tell me to go and I will. I just-”

“Did you know you overtalk when you’re nervous? And angry. And happy.”

Reif nods. “I’ve been told.”

Brok smiles and places his hands on her waist. “It’s kinda adorable.”

“I’m not-” He kisses her back, short and sweet, and when he pulls away too quickly Reif protests with a pout. He pulls her closer, kisses her forehead, her nose, her cheeks. “Stay. Please.”

She kisses him hard.

* * *

His bedroom door remains closed that night, only opening again come morning when the previous night’s din has replaced by the usual morning chorus. Reif slips out, clothing not quite perfect and a smile on her smudged lips, and makes her way down for breakfast, utterly famished.


	32. Michael

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A paladin and a warlock walk into a bar...

“I have a question.” Michael stops writing a moment to look at Reif, prompting her to ask her question. “How does a dragonborn get such a boring human name like Michael?

“Boring is subjective,” he replies. Reif side eyes him as she waits for her real answer. He sighs. “It was given to me by my Father.”

“I mean, sure, generally that’s how names work. Unless you pick your own, that is.”

He knows Reif well by now, knows her tenacious nature. Which is why he knows it’s easier to answer her questions than dodge them. He sets his pencil inside his book and closes it, placing it down on the ground beside him. “He was a religious man - _that_ kind of Father. And human. Hence the boring human name.”

“You know, you’ve never mentioned your family before.”

“And for good reason.” He pauses a beat. “My Father died horribly. A group of necromancers slaughtered my village and reanimated their corpses. I had to cut down people I once knew and loved, including my Father, lest I join them. From then on I swore an oath of vengeance against such foul magics and those who would use it. It was the least I could do for my Father to repay him the kindness he showed me when others did not.”

“Oh. I’m so sorry.”

Michael shakes his head. “It’s fine.”

“Yes, but I pried-”

“And you will continue to be pry because that’s who you are. You’re inquisitive by nature, often to a fault. 

“But it’s okay. I know you, Reif. Quite well now, in fact. I would not have answered your questions were I not comfortable enough to answer you them. But thank you for your concern. I’m grateful for it, even if it is not needed.”

Reif smiles. It feels wrong to do, given the horrific story he’s just told her. But something about his tone makes her do so anyway. Something warm. Something familial. “When did we become friends, Michael?”

He smiles back. “Some time after you clawed you way into my life and refused to leave, I think.”

She scoffs. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”


	33. What Now?

“So, what now?”

She twirls a finger through his chest hair, absentminded yet transfixed by it. This is still very new to her. The body hair. The muscle. She likes it.

She feels Brok shrug. “We lie here and eventually fall asleep or get up coz we want a snack?”

“No.” Reif shakes her head and sits up, resting on her elbow. “I mean after this. How do we act around each other? Around other people? What do we do?”

Another shrug. “I don’t know. Keep acting like we have been already? I mean, I doubt Michael wants to see us making out in front of him and last I checked you’re not into doing kinky shit in public - unless, are you?” Reif thumps him. “Ow! Just checking. You wear all those buckles, never know what you’re into.”

“They keep my clothes on.”

“You never know.” Another thump, just as weak as the first. “Alright, fine, I’ll stop.”

A few moments pass before Reif lays back down, then resumes her twirling. Brok watches her curiously, fascinated by her fascination. “Do elves not have body hair or something? I know beards aren’t exactly common, but...”

“I mean, it’s certainly less prevalent on _women_.”

Brok’s eyes go wide and he makes an involuntary _ohhhh_ sound. “So, wait, am I your first…?”

Reif rolls her eyes. “Human? Yeah. Honestly, elves don’t see gender as as big as deal as you humans do. The people I’ve been with have all fallen on different parts of the gender spectrum and each person had different things that drew me to them.”

She makes a pointed effort to move her attention elsewhere, though finds she only makes it a few inches lower. “You’re certainly different to my previous partners though. Different race, different temperament, different build. And, if I’m being truthful, you’re probably the first person I’m making any real kind of effort with. Did you know that I used to be awful at maintaining relationships of any kind?”

Brok tries not to sound too sarcastic. “No? Really?” Reif elbows him. “I’m sorry, you’re just not exactly the friendliest of people. I mean, look at how you treated me when I was new.”

“And in mourning.”

“Mourning doesn’t give you a pass to be a dick.”

“My point is, if you think I’m a dick now, you should’ve met me fifty years ago. To say I was bad at maintaining relationships of any kind is a gross understatement. I spent ninety percent of my time inside studying and the other ten percent sleeping and or eating. I didn’t have time to fit interactions with actual real life people in there. People talk back. People have different opinions to you. Do you know what you do if you’re reading a book and you don’t like what it says? You close it, put it back on the shelf and find another, more agreeable one.”

“Wow, you really aren’t as bad now. Now you shout at people you don’t like and argue with them.”

“I know you’re joking, but that is genuine progress for me. The fact I have conversations long enough to take issue with someone and then address it is a vast improvement for me. Now I just need to work on how I address it...”

They fall back into a quiet lull after that. Brok adjusts himself, one hand sandwiched under the pillow, the other stroking absentmindedly down her back, twirling her hair every now and again. Reif listens to the steady thump of his heart, to the steady rise and fall of his chest as he breathes in and out. Every now and then his chest hair brushes against her nose, tickling it. She crickles it and shifts on his chest, trying in vain to find a slightly less hairy patch.

Soon sleep begins to take them, so comfortable and quiet and content in their little bubble of bliss.

For a moment.

Reif’s eyes shoot back open. “We never answered my question.”

Brok chuckles and shushes her. “We’ll fathom it, don’t worry. We’ve got plenty of time.”


	34. All Intimate And Cosy (New)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for oc kiss week over on tumblr

Steady breaths, inhale and exhale, inhale and exhale. The fire crackles, pops every now and then as the flames find a new pocket of air trapped beneath the surface and expose it to the elements. A page turns. Reif sighs contently. Brok strokes her leg absentmindedly and she snickers as he hits a ticklish spot. 

It’s a nice change of pace, the quiet. No more banquets and balls. No more officials pestering them every five minutes with questions about the sorceress and her magic and what they did to stop her - and no more pointed looks when they find out she’s not strictly dead, more like incapacitated. None of that. Just peace and quiet. 

“Alright, I can’t not say anything anymore. What is going on here?”

Mostly. 

The quiet breaks and Reif glances towards the doorway where Michael is stood, sweaty from his evening’s training session. She shoots him a confused look. “Well I’m reading and he’s meditating.”

Michael indicates towards them, towards Reif’s legs casually strewn across Brok’s lap and his hand tickling her calf. “You’re all intimate and cosy. When did this happen?  _ How _ did this happen?”

Brok shrugs. “It just did.”

“I thought you hated him.”

Reif laughs awkwardly. “Nooooo. No. Look, hate is a strong word. I just - I really disliked him. But then we talked and I disliked him less. And now we’re-” She breaks off, unsure of how to finish her sentence. She looks to Brok, who simply smiles. “Now we’re where we are. Which is to say, here.”

“And where is ‘here’ exactly?”

Brok chuckles. “Surely you’ve not forgotten, Michael. We’re in Lionlight, remember?”

The paladin scowls. “You’re incorrigible, the pair of you. I’ll leave you to whatever it is you are. I need a bath.” 

Reif waits until he’s out of earshot before saying, “You know, a bath sounds awfully nice right now.” She sets her book down and shuffles closer to Brok, tucking her legs underneath her body and drapsing her arm along the back of the sofa. “Just you and me and some nice hot water. And some oils, obviously, can’t forget those. Perhaps a little rose. Or maybe some jasmine.” 

He turns his head and presses a kiss to her lips. “Whatever you like. You had me at ‘naked’.” 

Reif’s face sinks. “Oh. Is now a bad time to tell you about my bathing bodysuit?” Brok’s expression matches hers. 

She grins. He playfully headbutts her. 


	35. A Lesson Learned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes a bird must be pushed from the nest for it to learn how to fly...

They set her down on the sofa, fire roaring in front of her and blanket tucked over her - they’d tried to take her to her room, but she’d kicked and fussed (as much as someone with limited body strength and a loud voice could) until they took her somewhere else, somewhere more communal. She isn’t comfy, but she doesn’t have the energy to move herself and Michael has disappeared somewhere to do something. So she slumps awkwardly, neck already aching from the angle, and stares into the flames.

“Where were you, Mother?”

Feet scuff in the hallway and bags clatter as they’re dumped on the floor. “I hope you’re going to treat me better than that bag, young Master Breaker. A fitting name, I think.”

A sigh and Brok comes into vision, Valtus in hand. He sets the sentient staff down against the mantlepiece. “He kept asking for you. Sorry.” Brok kneels and kisses Reif’s forehead, brushes her hair from her face. “Do you need anything?” Reif shakes her head. He nods, kisses her once more then takes his leave, making sure to stress that he’s just in the other room should she need him. He shoots a pointed look towards the staff, who shoots an orange-tinted glare right back at him - at least as much as a floating orb can manage.

“My girl, are you alright?”

Silence. Reif tries to turn her back on him, but it hurts to roll. She settles instead for glowering.

The orange darkens, like the last traces of sunlight on the evening’s skyline. “Look, I know today has been difficult for you, but this is-”

“You said you talk to Her daily, right?”

A second wind of sunshine. “Yes. She has much wisdom to impart and I am eager to hear it.”

“Can you ask Her why She left me? Because I’ve tried getting Her to talk to me, but right now She’s not answering. And I’d really like some answers.”

“Sometimes there are no answers. Sometimes things simply happen.”

“Bullshit.” She sits up, despite the fire shooting through her veins, through her very bones. The blanket falls away. “You tell me that everything is part of Her plan and that She sees all. So why didn’t She see that coming?”

Silence.

“Unless, of course, “ Reif continues, the pain inside her spreading to her heart, “She did and She didn’t care. She knew what was going to happen and She let it.”

Valtus’ orb darkens, midnight black now. “You know that’s not true. She didn’t leave you. She sent your friend Michael-”

“No.” Reif quickly shuts him down. “She didn’t send him. He sent himself because he’s my friend and he cares about me. I would be dead without him.”

“Reif-”

She stands then, pain dulled by adrenaline and movement fuelled by anger. “A mother is supposed to be there for her children in their time of need. Where was She, Valtus? You were there with me. You saw how She left me in the mud to die.”

A long pause, then quietly he says, “Sometimes one must push a bird from its nest for it to learn how to fly.”

Reif nods slowly, finally understanding. She swallows the lump stuck in her throat. “And sometimes the bird does fly. But other times it just dies.” She turns then, ignoring the twisting pain in her gut, and calls out to Brok, who rushes to her side and slides an arm around her, props her up as she does her best attempt at storming away.

Valtus sighs and, were he able to anyway, shakes his head. “She still has so much to learn.”


	36. A Quiet Drink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What? You didn't think he was gone for good, did you?

“Two stews, an ale, and a kettle of water please.”

It takes a moment for the barmaid to action her request, her eyes too busy staring at the counter in front of Reif. She’s used to the staring by now, the not-so-subtle glances down at her hands that linger for just a little too long and get the looker-on caught. Reif smiles and slides a few coins across the counter. The barmaid’s eyes snap back up. “This should be enough to cover everything, right?”

When the barmaid sees the glint of gold, she nods and goes to get her change. Reif shakes her head. “Keep it.”

Her companion has already settled himself in the quietest corner of the inn and is glowering quietly. The place is quickly filling up and they were lucky to get a table at all, let alone one to themselves - though Reif suspects that Michael’s appearance helped with that.

Drinks in hand, Reif returns and cosies up next to him. “So apparently the guy performing tonight is amazing.” She begins her usual routine of pulling out her teacup and saucer and tea infuser, and sets to work on that night’s concoction of a drink while the kettle quietly boils. “Apparently he’s become this place’s regular entertainment after people kept begging for him to come back over and over again.”

Michael grunts. “That explains the crowd. And here I just wanted a quiet drink.”

“Let’s be honest, if we’ve learned anything by now it’s that nothing ever goes as planned, not even a quiet drink.” Far too many memories of accidental (and a few not-so-accidental) bar fights flash through Reif’s mind. She shakes them off, though the lingering stench of vomit is the last to leave, like always. 

“But look, at least we got a table and at least we’re sat out of the way. So enjoy your fricking stew and pray that the bard’s as good as they say so you don’t bring it back up again.” She nudges him with her elbow then inches his ale towards him, careful not to let any slosh over the sides. Michael shoots her a smile.

“Fine. But only because you insisted so forcefully.”

Reif and Michael watch the rest of the tavern fills up as they eat, amazed at how so many people can fit into such a small space. On more than one occasion the pair watch as someone gets excited thinking that they’ve found the last empty seat in the place. But then they see the pair in all their shadowy glory and skulk off again, disappointed. Reif and Michael laugh between themselves and wonder who could’ve captured the hearts of so many.

Whoever they are, they must be damned good to pack out a place like this.

A spotlight appears and silence falls. A voice echoes across the room. “Ladies and gentlefolk, your attention please. It’s finally that time of the night. The reason you’re all here. Please, put your hands together for the one, the only, Flambard.”

Reif freezes, mid-pour. Michael has to take the kettle from her and set it down before they’re scalded. “It can’t be…”

A halfling appears in the spotlight, winning smile on his lips and a twinkle in his eye. He looks out across the crowd and blows a kiss to a cluster of people seated near the stairs, who titter and giggle when it hits them.

“And yet…”

“Thank you for that marvelous introduction Brenda. And please, before I begin, I’d just like to remind you to tip your servers. It’s a lot of hard work keeping up with all you hungry folks and these guys are working their asses off to get to you all. But enough chatter, who’s up for a song?”

They look at each other with wide eyes. “It is.”


	37. The Elephant In The Room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Awkward moment when your old character comes back to the campaign

“I feel we should address the elephant in the room.”

The scraping of chair legs against a tired floor cuts through the conversation around the table, grinding it to a swift and disjointed halt. The halfling, who’d been seated on said chair mere moments ago, uses it to step up onto the table where he draws his companions’ attention.

“My friends, our numbers are not what they once were. We’ve lost a few people along the way and then miraculously found replacements for them shortly after despite being in the middle of nowhere at the time. But now it seems our party is growing stronger, for we have a new permanent fixture. A member who I - and correct me if I’m wrong here - I understand was my replacement.”

The party groan their disapproval, telling the bard to get down and stop being so silly. He, however, waves them away with a dismissive hand. “No, no, let me speak. We all know that I’m right - I always am. I was in no state to fight and so you left me in the capable hands of those monks rather than trying to stubbornly carry me around everywhere and ultimately sending me along to my untimely death. And for that I thank you, for I would hate to be killed whilst unable to speak coherently, let alone defend myself.

“But I can’t help but notice that this gentlemen here bears the uniform of the monks who nursed me back to health.” Flambard points an accusatory finger in the direction of Brok. “Not that I’m ungrateful for their help - I would not be stood here today without them. I just feel somewhat like you traded one person for another and forgot that at some point in time, the other would return and feel rather put out because the new guy has fit in very nicely.” Flambard glares pointedly at Brok and Reif, their criss-crossed legs hidden under the table.

“And here I am, wondering where it is that I fit in. If I even still fit in at all, that is.”

Silence hangs over the group. They all look between one another, shifting uncomfortably.

Reif clears her throat. “Do you feel better for that? Glad to have that off your chest?”

“Yes, actually.”

“Good. Sit your arse down and eat some bread. You’re acting a fool.” The bread basket slides across the table and hits Flambard’s foot. He grabs a piece on his way back down and tears into it reluctantly. “Now don’t go expecting any sonnets or ballads in your honour, because you’ll find none here-”

Varys chimes in. “I could always give that a try.”

Reif ignores him and continues. “But we love you and we’ve missed you and we desire you company again, don’t we?” The rest of the table agree to varying extents of enthusiasm, whilst Brok points out that he doesn’t actually know the bard very well. A hard kick under the table shuts him up.

“Exactly. So stop being silly and let’s get toasted.”

Varys once again chimes in. “But you just said-”

“To the Pennyfeathers!” She raises her goblet in toast and one by one her companions join her. Michael politely points out that, “we never actually agreed on that name.” He too finds a sharp pain in his shin as the table loudly toasts, “To the Pennyfeathers!”


End file.
